


The moral of snow white is never eat apples

by junebugtwin



Category: Coraline (2009), Coraline - All Media Types, Coraline - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Homelessness, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Paranoia, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, a fun hike through the woods fueled by trauma, canon typical creepy-ness, give her therapy please, somebody help this poor girl, stranger danger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junebugtwin/pseuds/junebugtwin
Summary: The very small door never opens again. It’s sealed by cement and placed behind a heavy bookshelf- and even if it wasn’t, there are only bricks behind it. The well is forced shut with chains and glue and heavy objects and ducktape- the most indestructible material in the world- and even if it wasn’t, that hole goes down forever, there is no bottom.Coraline's parents wipe the snow and the cold off of them with confusion in their eyes- and though there is plenty to question, they don’t. They treat her better, or maybe they always had, or maybe her perspective was skewed- but they’re still kinda… them. Dull and frustrating and self centered, which is good, because that meant they were real.(And even if they weren’t) Coraline wouldn’t be fooled easily again. She’d know if something was up.Coraline goes to bed, but she doesn’t sleep, too busy listening for the sound of fingernails tapping against the hardwood floors. She can hear her parents laughing with each other downstairs- which was rare for them, they usually argued when they thought she couldn’t hear them.Weird. Coraline thinks, heart beating a little faster.(She would know)(Right?)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 50





	1. What's wrong Coraline?

The very small door never opens again. It’s sealed by cement and placed behind a heavy bookshelf- and even if it wasn’t, there are only bricks behind it. The well is forced shut with chains and glue and heavy objects and _ducktape_ \- the most indestructible material in the world- and even if it wasn’t, that hole goes down forever, there is no bottom.

Coraline's parents wipe the snow and the cold off of them with confusion in their eyes- and though there is plenty to question, they don’t. They treat her better, or maybe they always had, or maybe her perspective was skewed- but they’re still kinda… them. Dull and _frustrating_ and self centered, which is good, because that meant they were _real_.

(And even if they weren’t) Coraline wouldn’t be fooled easily again. She’d know if something was up.

Coraline goes to bed, but she doesn’t sleep, too busy listening for the sound of fingernails tapping against the hardwood floors. She can hear her parents laughing with each other downstairs- which was rare for them, they usually argued when they thought she couldn’t hear them.

 _Weird_. Coraline thinks, heart beating a little faster.

(She would know)

( _Right_?)

* * *

Its little things at first, her father humming slightly more cheerfully than normal in the mornings- her mother smiling before she heads off to work.

She texts her later, asks if she wants Pizza when she gets home. Her father takes a break typing on his computer to listen to her talk about a story she’d created.

Coraline forgets to do the dishes and all her mom does is roll her eyes- her dad gives her a piggy back without prompting, planting a soft kiss on her head when he’s done.

And the two of them barely fight, even when she hangs around within eavesdropping distance after dark or when they think she’s outside- and _nothing_. No trash talking about money and taxes and horrible grown up stuff she’s learned to associate with conflict- no sniping about the move or making passive aggressive remarks about each other’s child raising skills- they just _talk_ \- about politics, their jobs, the weather, normal people stuff.

It seems good.

 _Too_ good

Suspiciously so.

She thinks about telling Wybie, but she knows he wouldn’t _get_ it- he may have helped her seal the other mother’s hand- but the rest of it he hadn’t lived. That- _other_ him- the one whose _mouth_ the _beldam_ -

The other Wybie was probably dead- or as dead as something not real in the first place could be.

He believed her when she told him stuff about the other place, but he didn’t have to live with the memories- to blink back images of a world unraveling itself on a whim, of rats holed up in a corpse like a second loosely fitting skin, of stiches and buttons and blood- and little kids who had realized too late what the price if love was there. (Too steep) he wouldn’t understand, and it’s not that she doesn’t trust him but-

So she can’t tell him. Which is bad because she thinks something is _wrong_ with her parents.

They stare down at her, and their eyes are glazed with love- or maybe they’re just glazed-

And they want to make her happy- or they want to make her stupid-

And sometimes they look at her, and they tilt their heads and they ask-

“What’s wrong Coraline?” and maybe they’re just concerned or maybe they’re starting to get suspicious-

And she can’t stand it. Her muscles are tight like a bow string about to snap, and she feels constantly rigid and tense, walking around quietly and breathing softly and hoping not to get noticed- and oh how things have changed from the brave attention seeking girl she used to be- because now she’s just brave, and maybe not even that- maybe now she’s just smart and clever and wise (and isn’t that more useful anyway)

Sometimes she can’t breathe, lungs snapped up by the mouse trap in her chest, squishing it and popping it with a plump deflating sound, and sometimes she can breathe _too_ much, too fast, and it’s all she can do to find a secure place to curl up and cry and heave and almost puke with panic- she even passes out sometimes, but at least then it’s over sooner.

Her body must sense an unknown danger, she thinks- that’s why she’s jumping at noises and pulsing with fear- her subconscious _knows_ something she doesn’t.

But it’s not any of those things that have her wise up- she still foolishly hopes, against all her internal doubt- that things will be okay.

But one day she is alone- her dad’s in his office and her mom is at work and she’s sitting in the kitchen, trying to bend some scrap metal she found into a cat, and things are peaceful, and quiet. Quiet enough that she hears it.

Tapping.

Her hair stands up on her arms, the back of her neck- her breath stutters and holds, retreating back inside her chest. Her fingers still play, sluggishly, like a babies hands, with her stupid art project.

She knows what that sound is supposed to be. It’s supposed to be droplets of water, from the sink tap- drip drip dripping down. She supposed to think ' it’s fine, dad just left the sink running a tiny bit' and, and-

She will not look up.

Coraline stares at her shaking hands, fingers clutching the cat hard enough to bend it into an ugly shape.

She will not look up.

She knows what will happen if she does- who will be waiting there. And it’s all suddenly so clear, how stupid she’d been- thinking that she was safe _here? Here??_ This was right over _her_ domain, smack dab on her face- practically a taunt

Practically an invitation.

Her parents are dead. This she suddenly knows. Her parents are dead and Coraline didn’t win, she just postponed the Beldams own victory, and what was she still **_doing_** here?!

She's going to die she’s going to die she’s going to die she’s going to

She gets up, and moves quietly, eyes on the floor- up the stairs and into her room, and she opens her closet and yanks out the bag stuffed inside- the back pack she was going to use for the new school next month- the one she hated because it was grey and boring and 'adult-y' but now realizes is _perfect_. She moves to her dresser, grabbing out different items of clothing and folding them into as tiny squares as she can manage before stuffing them in- two shirts, two hoodies, one pair of jeans and one pair of sweat pants, four underwear’s and three pairs of socks.

She collects the pocket knife she’d stolen from her mom’s purse from out under her pillow, and slinks back to her closet, rooting around for her- aha! Her pitifully small sleeping bag- the one that made her feel claustrophobic. It took up a good amount of her space in the pack, but because of its pathetic size, there was still a bit more room in that pouch left, never mind the other ones.

She swiped her flashlight from her desk last minute, pocketed her phone, and stealthily snuck down the stairs. She crept into the kitchen, managing to keep her eyes away from what might lay by the sink, and her heart at a manageable rate of 'going to kill her later rather than now'.

This part she had less idea about what to do. She creaked open the cupboard and stared at the large quantity of food. Obviously she had to take something that wouldn’t spoil- but even with her newest 'adventure' at her back, she still had little idea what was practical when it came to this sort of thing.

Internally shrugging, she grabbed a can of beans, a bag of jerky, some trail mix and a water bottle that wasn’t cold because she wasn’t about to risk crossing directly in front of her sink to get to her fridge. This was going to have to be good enough because her backpack was quickly gaining weight and she didn’t want to break her back carrying it.

She zipped it up, and with some finality, snuck to the back door. She paused; hand over the janky handle- to listen to her probably fake father’s gentle humming from another room.

Something in her ached with the realization that even though this was fake- that their happy family and warm hugs and gentle touches were all an illusion- that she’d never see this place again. Never see her parents again. They were gone. Well and truly dead, and she was about to leave the last traces of them behind.

She thinks about the water tapping in the sink.

She turns the handle, steps into the cold evening air, and proceeds to leave. She doesn’t look back, but her eyes are blurry enough that she wouldn’t have seen much anyway.


	2. But the cat didn't come back, the very next day

She immediately rules out going to live with Wybie. His grandma’s house is too close to the pink palace, and if she were the Beldam-, that'd be the first place she’d look.

She thinks about asking him to run away with her- but he’s a skittish kid, and more than that- this is _her_ problem, and if he went with her and got hurt it’d be _her_ fault. She doesn’t know him that well, but she likes him, and he helped her- and really, this is the least she can do.

Even if the idea of doing this by herself makes the worms swimming in her guts wiggle nauseatingly.

So she walks- careful to stay to the side of the road, just inside the forest and hidden by leaves and shrubbery.

She’s not sure whether the Beldams new puppets are quite smart enough to call the police when they realize she’s escaped their grasp- but she’s going to try to leave as little of a trail as possible. Which included not getting noticed by people passing by in their cars. She had blue hair, which made her a little hard to forget-

Which- as much as she actively hated the idea- she could always change her hair to some stupid dumb idiot color like black or brown or whatever. Make herself a little less noticeable?

Ugh, shed table the idea for now- what she really had to focus on was getting as _far_ away as she possibly could.

And so she did- mindlessly putting one foot ahead of the other, head swimming with anxieties and 'what ifs' and doubts.

This method of moving turned out to go directly against walking through treacherous undergrowth- and she’d tripped a few times, picking herself up and aggressively wiping the mud and leaves off her backside every time. Not much she could do for her bruised knees and sore legs and back and everything else- but she wasn’t walking around with a dirty butt- she had a _little_ more pride than that

But it was hard to pay attention to her surroundings, mostly because it was terribly _boring_. The kind of boring she hated, the kind that she’d ignored the freaking huge red flag of button eyes to avoid- she was just cold, and hungry, and tired, and sore, and oh my god _bored_.

Coraline sighed, watching the slowly setting sun with a sort of Grimm acceptance.

She’d planned her route to follow the road straight out if Ashland, which she’d exited, like, after the first hour- so there weren’t exactly any buildings or shelters she could sleep in- not that she really knew what she’d be doing with that anyway- but still.

She was going to have to sleep in the chilly, vaguely threatening and bear infested woods by herself, with only a thin not that great sleeping bag between her and the untamed wilds.

This was the type of thing she’d think sounded fun if she weren’t actually about to do it. It was a cool concept- living in nature like some sort of feral beast or courageous adventurer- but the _concept_ didn’t usually include bugs trying to climb up your nose, or the difficulty of not being able! To find a darn! Spot to sleep!

Nowhere was flat, and there were thorns- or thorn like (she couldn’t actually tell the difference) branches- everywhere she went!

It was frustrating and dumb and she felt extraordinary small and alone and emotional. How was she going to _actually_ do this- she thought she’d be fine, because- because

Because _surely_ , if she had survived before she could live through _this_ \- all she had to do was put her freaking sleeping bag somewhere, and surely that wasn’t as difficult as-

Coraline nearly leapt for joy at the sight of a tiny bit of soft grass- not interrupted by twigs or branches or thistles or rocks- a perfect spot, directly nestled under the protective branches of a large but rather squat looking pine tree.

Smiling, Coraline races over, depositing her back pack on the ground and sliding it under the safety of the branches, before hurriedly unzipping one side and awkwardly spreading out the sleeping bag beside it. She sort of got a mouth full of sticky pine needles for her trouble, but she was so beyond caring at this point- she was just anxious to lie down, rest her sore feet- especially under this tree where she’d be practically invisible to most people.

 _Safe_ \- at least for tonight, for the first time in a long time.

Excited, she laid on her back, not minding the twigs and grass she was inevitably getting in her hair- and scooched her way under the protective boughs and into the relative comfort of her sleeping bag.

She zipped it up, momentarily wiggling in its strict confines to get comfy, before settling down.

By this time it was now dark, and since her frantic search for a decent shelter was found, she was actually able to take it all in.

Everything around her was shaded a low bluish grey- like one of those long sad movies her mother used to watch. It wasn’t terribly windy out, but there was a bit of a breeze, and the long grasses and various plants gently swayed around her.

There was a stream somewhere close by- or close enough that she could hear it anyway- and the sound was incredibly comforting.

It wasn’t all perfect- the mosquitoes buzzed irritatingly around her hair and ears, making her twitchy and annoyed- her sleeping bag wasn’t that thick and she was a bit uncomfortably nippy- and the big tree that currently cradled her also hit her in the face occasionally with it’s semi sharp needles when they moved with the wind.

But all in all, it was good enough, and she was too tired to want anything better than that.

* * *

_The other mother pets her hair softly, stroking long fingers gently over her scalp- soothing and calm and slow._

_Coraline sways, eyes drooping at the pleasurable sensation._

_“Don’t ever stop” she says, purring contentedly like the cat that no longer visits. Her other mother- her real mother- the one that is always there-_

_Smiles behind her head._

_“Oh Coraline” she whispers, hugging her closer._

* * *

Coraline shrieks, bolting upwards, only to slam back onto the ground as her face knocks into the branch inches above her.

Her head pounds on the front and back with both impacts and her eyes swim with tears. She’s hot, too hot- sweating and trapped and arms held at her sides- unable to move, unable to think or breathe or or or

Coraline whimpers- before realizing she just screamed and she’s alone by herself in a forest with predators and strangers and more than that- her other mother could have sent people after her and she just gave her cover away and they’re going to find her and they’re going to take her and drag her and hurt her and shove her back through that passage way and she'll get her eyes scrapped out by long curling claws and a cool small needle will poke- _so sharp you won’t even feel it_ \- right through her bloody eyelid, and she'll have shiny new buttons and she’ll be stuffed like a squealing pig and comforted and loved and then she'll get eaten and every bite will be agony and her parents are _dead_ and she’ll be _dead_ and it will be all her fault for not keeping her stupid mouth shut and and and and and and

Coraline waits, as still as she can be while mildly hyperventilating, eyes pried wide open and watching her surroundings. It’s still night time she thinks, and every chirping bug or hoot of an owl sends a bolt of intense fear down her spine.

She keeps waiting for the inevitable, praying against all odds that nothing will happen and knowing with her heart that it will. This is where she loses the game.

Except she doesn’t. She just lays there; hear pounding slower and slower as absolutely nothing happens.

Coraline blinks dazedly, thoughts muddled with fear and exhaustion.

She _knows_ she should be caught right now- that she _failed_ \- but. But no one’s grabbed her; in fact, she doesn’t even hear any wild animals searching for her other than bugs and birds.

She appears to be safe.

Coraline closes her eyes, but she doesn’t sleep again.


	3. You look so small in such a big city

Coraline decides to get a move on when the sun begins to shine and she can no longer ignore the straining of her bladder or her cramped back.

Groaning slightly, she wiggles her way out if her make-shift nest, awkwardly peeing in some nearby bushes (and wow boys had it easy in that regard) before standing up in a long stretch.

She does not feel great. Her muscles are sore from walking so much yesterday, and from ‘sleeping’ on the hard ground- which yeah, she got about four hours of nightmare plagued shut eye and then was miserably awake for the rest of the night- _plus_ she was bruised all over from tripping a bunch yesterday and wisely head butting a tree last night.

So looking dandy.

Coraline sighed sitting down tiredly beside her camp. She was honestly pretty hungry, because _look at that_ \- she hadn’t eaten lunch _or_ dinner before leaving and definitely _not_ before going to bed, and she had to really ration what food she _did_ have because most of the room in her back pack was taken up by her crappy sleeping bag!!

Coraline stared grumpily at the zipper she pulled loose, taking out the trail mix with some reluctance.

She was just going to have to eat a little bit now and a little bit later- more near night. She couldn’t exactly afford to be stopping for lunch, considering she wasn’t all that far from Ashland.

She scarfed a good amount of it down, making sure to leave plenty left- her stomach groaning in complaint- and took a swig of her water bottle. When (or if) she got to the next town she could probably find a way to refill her water for free- it would be a bit more tricky doing that for her food.

But whatever- she had to make it there first before she stated getting her pants in a twist about it.

Speaking of which- she figured she’d wear these clothes for another day, as kind of gross as that was- it wasn’t like she had an incredible amount of clothing with her, nor a reliable way of washing them. She’d have to make do with being a little grubby.

Deciding she’d might as well get started, she hoisted up her back pack, neatly re-packing its contents, hastily swiped a few twigs out of her hair, and began to set off again.

* * *

The walking was just as dull and exhausting as last time, and with the added bonus of her previously mentioned irritations, she was all the more angry about it.

She hadn’t expected this to be _easy_ exactly, but she’d expected it to be like a movie- she’d skip over the boring tedious walk-y parts and get straight to the other stressful stuff- but real life didn’t really work that way. Unfortunately.

Coraline sighed, watching another dusty car whiz merrily past her through the bushes, swatting at a mosquito idly.

God she was still hungry. She _really_ should have taken more food. But it wasn’t exactly like she could go back now- or any time really.

She shifted, hoisting her slightly too heavy pack up a bit- feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

She really had no idea what came next. Provided she made it to the next city- some place called ‘Riley', apparently- she didn’t really have a game plan. She’d obviously needed to find shelter, food, water- all things she needed money for- which- all the cash she had was the coins she’d randomly had stuffed in her pocket- seven dollars and fifty cents. Not exactly a fortune.

She needed a steady income- which was bad because there was this thing- 'child labor laws' and they probably didn’t permit twelve year olds to man the burger grill or work soul breaking office jobs- something she was ordinarily quite thankful for.

This time not so much.

Maybe she could pretend to be fourteen? Hadn’t she heard somewhere that fourteen years olds could work- but oh, she was pretty sure you needed parental permission for that- and her parents were currently ghosts somewhere with their bodies walking around as mind washed husks in a fate worse than death- so-so-

Coraline swallowed the lump in her throat down and changed topics.

Maybe she could hire some homeless person to pretend to be her parent? Except that seemed like a bad idea in a lot of ways, one of which being that she was pretty sure most homeless people would like more compensation than seven dollars and fifty cents- which, well, she couldn’t exactly blame them for that.

Coraline’s hopeless spiral was abruptly cut off as her boot collided with a sturdy root and she fell face first into a patch of thistles.

* * *

It took her three days in total to make it to the next town- and the remaining hadn’t gone much better than she’d expected.

A lot of walking, some tripping, eating a truly pathetic amount of food, setting up camp somewhere mildly tolerable, either getting woken up by nightmares or not even attempting to sleep, more walking more walking, more _crappy_ walking.

It had not been the dream, so to speak.

By now she’d changed clothes but didn’t fancy a dip in the tiny frigid little stream that seemed to follow the road- so she’d remained stinky and unwashed and gremlin like.

Actually entering the city had been like gulping down a cup of hot chocolate that was much too hot- exciting and warm and awesome, but also scary and painful and not the smartest.

She was well aware that risking meeting more people meant risking getting found more quickly, but she just didn’t have the skill, knowledge, or resources to keep camping in the wild.

Unfortunately no amazing solution had presented itself in concern to her money problem, so she’d resolved to just walk around the city until she saw something useful.

Was it a dumb plan? Yeah. Was it likely to get her run over or mugged? Yes. Was it not even a plan really? Also yes.

But, uh. She didn’t really have any other options so.

So!

Coraline coughed, swishing her hand idly across her face- she’d forgotten what cities smelt like- cigarette smoke and car exhaust and lots of food cooking. It wasn’t necessarily a bad smell, but it was overwhelming, after being stuck in the middle of nowhere for a year.

It was a little weird, to be walking around by herself, without an adult in a busy place like this- it had been freaky enough dragging herself through the wilderness alone- but _here_ , with people actually around, it was even more obvious.

She followed the flow of traffic for a bit, trailing behind the fast walking business people and chatting young women, curiously listening in to snippets of conversation.

It was alienating- she was lonely, and in danger, and had no where to go- and everyone else here didn’t even know, and wouldn’t likely care.

And more than that- she was the only one who knew, about the Beldam, and the other place and creatures normally invisible to the human eye- and it wasn’t like anyone would ever believe her about it anyway. She seemed crazy, she felt crazy.

Maybe she was.

Coraline tugged on the straps of her bag nervously, watching her worn out sneakers hit the ground methodically.

She already knew she couldn’t trust her own senses- already knew the other mother could create and destroy at the flick of a wrist- this could all be fake- she could be dreaming and she only thought she was getting away and did she _really_ think she was smart enough to get away with this-

Coraline flinched, turning wildly at the hand that landed on her shoulder.

A man was looking down at her, eyes scrunched in concern- fake concern, it real concern or, or-

She realized she’d been standing in the middle of the sidewalk breathing heavily.

“You okay kid?” the man asked, cocking his head to the side, his rumpled jacket twisting with the movement. His eyes were puke green.

Coraline looked up at him warily, heart still beating erratically under her ribs. He was probably just worried- she did just stop mid step and start hyperventilating.

(He could be one of _hers_ )

“Uhm, yeah, fine I guess. Sorry.” She muttered, some of her distrust coming out into her aggressive tone. The barf eyed man squinted a little, looking her up and down. Coraline grimaced, remembering that as much as she’d tried to clean up before going into the city, she was still kinda grubby looking.

“Do you have someone here with you? Do you need somewhere to stay?” vomit eyes asks, his voice pitched sappy with pity, watching her like a hawk- testing her, _tricking_ her- too convenient that some random adult wanted to help her the _moment_ she got here- and even besides that, she knew about stranger danger- step one was not following creepy men to a different location.

“Buzz off weirdo!” she spat, before quickly turning away and running back into the general crowd- fast walking through pedestrians while steadily not looking back.

(He doesn’t follow her, and for the most part she’s glad)


End file.
